


But The World Looks Better (Through Your Eyes)

by pipelliot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Children, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Insecure!Merlin, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Gwen (Merlin), POV Merlin, Post-Divorce, Unrequited Love, Valentine's Day, pining!merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipelliot/pseuds/pipelliot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur marries Gwen and Merlin eventually realises he can’t quite handle it. Of course, he does the mature thing and runs away back to Ealdor to live with Will. Two months later, and on the eve of Valentine’s Day, Arthur calls. And Merlin actually picks up this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d and written with nothing but complete love and adoration for Gwen. this one really is quite messy in terms of just about everything, so I do apologise!  
> title from Ed Sheeran's beautiful "Firefly".  
> (Oh! and any thanks to cait_roswen for the Will/Mordred pairing inspiration! Who would’ve thought? What a lovely surprise of a ship! )
> 
> ♥

His phone rings. And rings and rings and Merlin supposes he should answer it since he hasn't for a while, not for weeks. He winces a bit, though, because it's sharp and uncomfortable and everything's far too quiet these days for his phone to ring.  
Merlin sighs. Hits call.

“Merlin,” says a voice by way of greeting. The voice sounds surprised that his so-called best friend has actually answered the phone. Merlin just might hate himself a little bit for it.

"Hi," he answers eventually, sinking down the wall onto the carpet, beside the window with his feet tucked closely under him.

"Christ, Merlin, at least I know you’re still alive. I know you’d rather I didn’t call you, but there’s only so much Will actually speaks to me, you know.” Sometimes Merlin really does appreciates Arthur's directness. Merlin's tired, and there are teddy bears with hearts almost everywhere he turns, so he appreciates directness. Because he supposes he's a bit sad, too. Sad and tired and lonely. So direct is good. Direct is less exhausting. 

Merlin doesn't know what to say. He really doesn't. Merlin loves Arthur's voice, always has, probably always will. It’s become a sort of stable constant in his life. Background noise and a comfort and all that. He loves Arthur's voice and even though he doesn't always appreciate what exactly it is that voice comes out with, he'll always listen. Can't help it.

"I'm glad you did. Call, I mean." Merlin can practically see his soft eyes and sad smile. Merlin drops his head to his knees. Say something, Merlin. Anything. Give him that. Give him something. 

"I miss you," says Arthur. Merlin's heart stops and goes altogether frantic all at once. Arthur says that pretty often now, actually. Merlin's not sure why, but still, it never gets old.

The first time Arthur had said it, Merlin had been gone a full month and a couple days. It was gentle but sure and Arthur’s voice wobbled a bit over the line and Merlin couldn't help but resent it a little bit. It was hard. It is hard. Because Merlin loves him and it's the most ridiculously unfair thing, Merlin thinks, you can say to a person who has run away from you because they love you more than they’re allowed to.

Merlin stuck it out for six whole months. The whole watching Arthur and Gwen be so absolutely perfect together business, that is. Merlin stuck it out a whole six months after the wedding, with a knife in his gut and a smile that wavered more than he wanted it too when Arthur somehow remembered Merlin was there and looked all concerned.

(Except that's not being fair. Merlin's not being fair. Because Arthur always remembered Merlin, just never in the right ways. Or at least in the ways Merlin completely and utterly and selfishly wanted him to.)

Merlin couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. He said as much eventually, all choked up and packed bags and tear-strained, almost forgetting how to explain just how he couldn’t quite cope at all with Arthur being happy despite rehearsing it all in his head for months. Merlin supposed Arthur had figured it out by then, though, what it was Merlin couldn't do. The thing about Merlin, you have to remember, is that he's very selfish. He can't watch his best friend in the whole world be happy with most-probably the loveliest person he's ever known and had the pleasure to be friends with. Merlin sobbed a bit into Arthur's shoulder and Arthur held him really very close. It was a bit awful, and Merlin knew he was horrible and that Arthur deserved better people around him than selfish fucks like Merlin. Merlin tells himself that Arthur’s better off for it. Better off without him, that is. He tells himself to ignore the pity in Arthur’s eyes. (The blatant hurt, too, because Merlin's not quite so naive as that.)

 _Okay,_ was what Arthur said as he held him. _Okay. I'm sorry. Okay._

Merlin would almost applaud Arthur on keeping such a level head for once, for letting the issue go so easily. For letting Merlin go so easily. Merlin would praise him if he wasn’t so busy sobbing into Arthur’s shirt. If the fact that letting Merlin go so simply was equally such a sickeningly tremendous relief as it was a bit heartbreaking (selfish, remember? _Selfish selfish selfish_ ) Plus, it's horrible when Arthur apologises. Just horrible. 

After Merlin essentially dropped everything in London and ran away to Ealdor to live with Will and work in his Uncle Gaius’ pharmacy, Arthur didn't call Merlin, message him, mail him or even write him (the old-fashioned dolt that he is) for three weeks. Merlin spent those weeks not eating nearly enough and smelling like a medieval tavern. For a while Merlin convinced himself that Arthur was a bit weirded out by him. You know. _Your supposed best friend has loved you for a long fucking time and that's weird, Merlin. Who wants that? What did all of those touches mean, then, Merlin?_ Fuck. Who wants Merlin when you could have positively anyone you wanted, let alone _Gwen Thomas_? Eventually, though, Merlin lifted his head a tiny bit from his glass and realised that it really was just Arthur trying to give Merlin the space he tells himself he desperately needs. And maybe a bit of everything else aforementioned, but Merlin knows Arthur, knows he'd feel nothing but pity and guilt. Merlin's sure he wasn't altogether disgusted or anything. He's pretty sure.

"I miss you," Arthur's saying, stronger now, like it's something Merlin needs to hear despite the fact that it absolutely isn't. "And that's selfish, I know, but it's true."

"It's not selfish." Merlin mutters. Words, Merlin. Good job. Well done. He's Merlin’s best friend, Merlin should be able to _do words_ more often around him. Isn't it just tragic. "How's Gwen?"

Arthur sighs. Sounds a bit resigned when he says, "She's well. Misses you, too."

"I'm sure." Merlin doesn't know why he says that, to be honest. For a while he got it into his stupid head that Gwen would be angry with him. For running off without saying goodbye, sure, but mostly for secretly wanting to kiss her husband all of the time. That would get on any normal person's nerves. Gwen's not any normal person, though, Merlin knows. She's spectacular. She's Gwen. Merlin can see pity in her eyes. Maybe a trace of disappointment. Merlin's not sure why he says it and why it sounds all cold. Maybe 'cause it's Valentine's Day and all that. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Merlin hopes it doesn't. That's just stupid.

"Don't. Everyone misses you, Merlin."

"Yeah." Merlin awkwardly tries to tug his too-large hoodie sleeves over his knuckles. "I miss everyone, too."

"You won't come see us, then?" Note the carefulness of the 'us'. Us. Gwen and Morgana and Lance and Leon and Mithian and Elyan and-- and Gwaine. Oh fuck, Gwaine. There's a fresh slice of aching. No-- it's okay. He has Percy, now, it's okay. He's okay. 

Merlin breathes. There's a kind of hope in Arthur's tone, he notices, but it's far off.

"You know, 'Gana's party and all that." Arthur clears his throat, sounds a bit flustered. Merlin hates it. Hates it hates it. He thought they were past this. This not knowing how to be. Merlin decided already, he ran away so they'd hardly be at all. It would be fine. Everything's fine. "For Valentine's Day. It's Valentine's Day."

Merlin smiles down at his shoes. "Yeah, I noticed."

"You're smiling, I can tell. I wish I could see you."

Merlin sighs. "Arthur, please don’t—“

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Arthur cuts in quickly. "But you'll come? Please?"

It's an hour's drive to Morgana's would-be mansion. Merlin actually considers it. Must be all those hearts everywhere. Why not butcher your own, Merlin, hey, how about that?

"I don't know."

"Right," Arthur sounds decidedly less perky at that. And there wasn't much perkiness to begin with. Then he sounds like he does when he's all charming and polite to people he doesn't know too well. It hits Merlin like a fuck-ton of heavy things. "Of course, Merlin. I understand. We all understand."

"I don't deserve you," Merlin chokes, a lump building in his throat that he can’t imagine he’ll ever swallow. It's like he has to win back his Arthur again. Open up so Arthur won't close off, close off when Arthur oversteps. It's give give give and take take take and it's terrible and Merlin hates it. "I don't deserve any of you." Oh, are his cheeks wet now? Are his eyes red? He sniffles before he can help it. When was the last time he let himself cry like this? For himself, all pathetic, always pathetic. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

"Now, see," Arthur starts, louder, while Merlin wipes at his eyes. "If you were here with me, I could tell you how much of an idiot you are and give you some proper tissues so you wouldn't be using your sleeve to wipe your big snotty tears right now. And then I'd give you all of this posh chocolate that I hate and a really good hug because my hugs are the best. Obviously."

Merlin laughs shortly, mostly just a huff of breath. He's smiling again, though. That's twice now he’s done that. He would really love that hug, he thinks. That's what he thinks. Forget everything else. Forget it.

Maybe it's time? Maybe... "That sounds... nice?"

"Of course it does," says Arthur smugly. Then quieter, less sure, "You'll come, then?" Merlin tries to answer no, he really does. He tries to say anything at all.

"Unless. Unless there's... someone, you, um." Merlin shakes his head, almost frantically, because that's ridiculous. He doesn't realise for a stupid length of time that Arthur cannot, infact, see him however, and that he's still rambling down the line. "I'm sure 'Gana wouldn't mind if you... I'd love to meet him. I'm sure everyone else would, too, and--"

"Arthur," Merlin gets out eventually. "There isn't anyone else." Anyone else? Anyone _else_? Fuck sake, Merlin. He digs his palm into an eye, mumbles frustratedly, "I mean there isn't anyone. I haven't-- I'm not. It's just me," he finishes lamely, embarrassed. A part of him wishes he’d made someone up. That part of him is his pathetic, tincy, wailing sense of pride. It wants to tell Arthur all about someone gorgeous and brilliant and who maybe actually likes Merlin. Or just someone. Merlin is trying his best to ignore his pride. It isn’t very worthy of much indulgence at this particular point of his life, he thinks.

Talking to Arthur should never be this hard. Not ever. It's probably what hurts the most, about everything. You know how hard it is to find a person you're so unconditionally comfortable with? It's a bit impossible for Merlin, if he's honest. But he supposes he lost that a long time ago, back in the very beginning when Merlin had thrown his feet onto Arthur's lap one lazy Sofa Sunday and Arthur had mindlessly traced circles over Merlin's ankles with his fingertips. By then Merlin wanted to shower him with ridiculously sweet kisses to every perfect inch of him. It really was terrible for a long time, there, at the start of it all.

"I know I'm not being fair. I know."

"It's fine,” Merlin mumbles. He wishes he could make himself sound more convincing, but it’s too hard. Everything requires a lot of effort, Merlin thinks distantly, never wanting to do anything ever again, and promptly telling himself to shut up. “S'not your fault,” is all he can muster.

"I just. I really want to see you." _I really want to see you._ What the fuck is he trying to do?

Merlin really wants to see Arthur too. But that's kind of an understatement of rather monstrous proportions. Maybe it’s time to-- to _give_. Merlin’s not ready to see everyone just yet—it’s downright shameful and mortifying and he can’t but he thinks maybe he can and— and that hug sounds really lovely and—

"Yeah."

"Yes?" Arthur sounds so hopeful it kind of hurts. A lot.

But. "Wait. I don’t, um—I know I have no right to ask, but—“ he takes a long shuddery breath. Fuck what is he _doing_.  
“What is it?”

Shit. _Valentine’s Day, Merlin._ It’s fucking Valentine’s Day and Merlin’s about to ask Arthur to travel an almost hour-long journey to his ex-best friend’s empty place (who ran away and who Arthur hasn’t seen for two whole months, let alone the fact that Merlin’s still immensely fucking in love with him) for a fucking hug? Fucking hell.

“Forget it, it doesn’t matter. Listen, I can’t—“

“No, Merlin, please, what were you….?”

“I can’t—Arthur, I just can’t face anyone. Not just yet. It’s too--“

“ _Merlin—_ “

“Come to me?”

There’s a silence, and Merlin kind of wants to crawl under the murky coffee table and never ever come out for as long as he lives.  
But--

“Yes,” Arthur’s saying. “Yes. Fuck, Merlin, yeah, of course I will.”

“Really?” Merlin chokes, heart soaring despite itself.

“Yes—Merlin. Where the hell are you?"

Merlin gives his and Will’s address with a trembling voice (no hiding now) and tells Arthur that Will’s away at Mordred’s for the Valentine’s weekend, reassuring him that he won’t be there to bite Arthur’s head off. Arthur tells him that he wouldn’t be worried about that, tells him thank you, and that he’ll be there as soon as he can. And so with a dagger wedged into Merlin's stomach, and a thousand butterflies in his belly, that was more or less that.

 

+++

 

Merlin didn’t know what he expected.

Arthur is achingly beautiful, always has been. But Merlin still sees how his face has slightly sunken in on itself, how his eyes seem so much wider, wearier, more alert. His jacket (like his hair) is dripping where it hangs from his fingers and he's wearing a (typically) red jumper that Merlin recognises, and he notes how it seems to hang off his perfectly-toned frame a little bit. He looks so perpetually tired, and Merlin winces at the idea that he's maybe a little part of the reason why.

Merlin's a little busy thinking about how much he wants to pounce on Arthur in that moment that he doesn't realise he's being completely smothered by Arthur until a hand comes to cup the back of his head and Merlin's own breathing becomes terrible, if it’s there at all. Merlin honestly didn't know what Arthur's reaction would've been; deep inside he had despaired at the thought of it being painfully stiff and awkward like they've never been. He didn't expect freezing hands clinging somewhat desperately close, didn't expect Arthur's lips to Merlin's neck and eyes closed like just seeing Merlin was a bit too much.

Merlin clings on just as desperately. He might know the feeling.

"Sorry," Arthur mumbles, pulling away eventually. That was a good hug, Merlin concludes, despite how Arthur's hair is dripping all over him and the sodding lump that was Arthur's jacket that is now lying woefully on the carpet. Arthur was right.

For a horrifying second Merlin worries that this is where it all goes wrong, that after the initial happiness of seeing him this is where Arthur straightens out, all proper handshakes and awkward smiles. 

“That was a good hug,” Merlin says very seriously.

Arthur beams.

 

+++

 

Merlin lets a sopping, freezing Arthur (the train station really is only a five minute walk from Merlin and Will's appartment, but apparently that's enough to assist someone in catching their death) use his shower and somehow afterwards they’re lounging on the sofa, chatting and laughing at romantic comedies in all the wrong places, scoffing down Chinese takeaway and beer (Wicked for Merlin, actually, because he’s weak like that) and inching ever closer like Merlin isn’t actually an arsehole, like nothing’s ever happened.

The relief that some things can stay the same—it almost knocks Merlin sideways and he can’t stop _smiling_.

Until it’s three in the morning and Merlin’s eyes start to feel all sore and prickly, his head dropping onto Arthur’s shoulder. 

Merlin feels Arthur tense under him and is a little bit horrified at himself until Arthur practically melts with a deep sigh, winding an arm around Merlin—tugging him even closer—and planting a kiss at Merlin’s temple, followed by one on the top of his head.  
And then Merlin’s winding his own arms around Arthur’s middle, burying his face in his warm neck because he can’t fucking help it. Maybe he’ll be mortified tomorrow. Maybe he can blame it on the Wicked or general sleepiness. He really doesn’t care.

“Come on,” says Arthur suddenly, hitting the off button on the remote and taking Merlin’s hand, tugging him off of the couch. “Show me the bedroom.”

Merlin clears his throat, his palm feels disgustingly clammy and slippery in Arthur’s lovely warm one. He’s a bit distracted, to say the least. Not much registers.

“Oh, uh, I’m in Will’s and you’re staying in my, um,“ he points down the hall.

“Merlin, please.” Arthur looks at him so earnestly Merlin almost laughs, eyes the deepest, most perfect blue Merlin has ever seen.  
And so they both wind up in Merlin’s boring little bedroom, walls just this side of a sickly blue. And Arthur’s toeing off his shoes, climbing onto Merlin’s bed, sitting back against the headboard and legs splayed in front of him. Merlin tries to study him in the dark, with only the slight orange of the streetlights leaking through the curtains to help him. Arthur looks so terribly disheveled, exhausted, nervous, trying desperately to shelter his uncertainties—but gentle and encouraging like Merlin’s never seen him. Merlin thinks his head is about to explode.

“Please,” says Arthur for what Merlin assumes will be the final time. Merlin nods too many times and swallows, crawling up to Arthur who has already begun to climb under the many blankets (Merlin gets kind of unnaturally cold at night) and is turned on his side.

Merlin sits awkwardly on his heels for a moment, just watching, before Arthur rolls his eyes and beckons Merlin to him. Merlin obliges. Soon Merlin is curled up in Arthur’s arms, Arthur’s knees in behind his own and arm wrapped snugly around Merlin’s tummy, his waist, fingers clenched in Merlin’s ill-fitting t-shirt. Arthur’s head is tucked in close behind Merlin’s neck. Merlin can feel his warm breaths on his skin and doesn’t suppose he’s felt so warm in months. Possibly years.

Merlin’s everything is fluttering rather embarrassingly. It’s not that they’ve never shared a bed before, it’s just… if Merlin didn’t know any better (and he does) the way Arthur is wrapped around him… well, Merlin hasn’t the energy to feel pitied or guilty. He feels protected, possessed, even, remembering some of Arthur’s less-than-favourable qualities that still somehow make Merlin shudder. He feels wanted. He feels _wanted_.

Arthur’s fingers loosen in Merlin’s shirt, instead blindly searching for Merlin’s fingers. He plays with them, traces tickling patterns on his palm, fits his own fingers between the gaps. Merlin doesn’t know how, but his breathing is slowing remarkably and suddenly he’s drifting so easily in a way he hasn’t been able to for as long as he can remember.

He’s so very nearly asleep when there’s a press of lips so soft, so gentle against the delicate skin at back of Merlin’s neck. When there’s a quiet, barely audible mumble. A sort of _Love you._

Arthur’s dreaming, of course, Merlin thinks desperately. He’s tipsy. He thinks Merlin is Gwen. Laugh it off, Merlin. Arthur thinks Merlin is Gwen, isn’t it hilarious?

“Stop thinking, idiot. You heard me.” And oh, he’s definitely not speaking to Gwen.

“I love you.” A kiss. “I miss you.” Another. “And I’m allowed. Dammit, Merlin, you’re my best friend and I’m allowed.” Arthur snuggles in closer, mumbling against Merlin’s skin, “M’sorry you had to love me.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur only pulls him closer.

+++

They woke up in a wind of limbs, fingers clenched painfully stiffly in each other’s clothes, crescent moons on their skin. But Arthur has a wife, didn’t you know, a very wonderful wife, and so he had to leave.

But not before pulling Merlin into his arms once more, not before placing a lingering kiss to his cheekbone, his forehead, his jaw—the very corner of his mouth. Merlin shuddered a breath, grabbing hold of Arthur’s wrists where his hands held Merlin’s face and pressing their foreheads together.

Merlin didn’t know what to think, what to feel. All he wants, all he thinks he’s ever wanted (and isn’t it just pathetic? Isn’t it terrible?) is Arthur and Arthur is married and Arthur is about to leave and he just doesn’t know what to do.  
“It’s okay,” Arthur says gently, stroking his thumbs over Merlin’s cheeks. “It’ll be okay.” Merlin nods. Doesn’t believe it of course, but nods anyway.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Merlin says weakly because he thinks he should say something. He tries to give a convincing enough smile but judging by Arthur’s frown it probably closer resembles a wince.

Arthur winds his arms around Merlin’s waist, nuzzles his neck once more. Merlin’s automatically loop around Arthur’s shoulders and all he does is breathe and breathe and breathe, there’s absolutely nothing else can do.

“You’ll find someone. Someone better. Someone who realises when they are so fucking lucky to have you and they’ll snatch you up right away. They won’t miss a beat.”

Merlin smiles a bit at Arthur’s mumbled words. He can even feel them a little. He’s rather betrayed by a tiny sniffle that escapes him, though, and everything’s started to blur.

Arthur, in response to the traitorous sniffle, Merlin presumes, hugs tighter. “I’ll have to interrogate him first, of course. Make sure he’s worthy.”

Merlin chuckles somewhat self-deprecatingly. He knows there won’t be anyone else—he’d already tried with Gwaine (and really, Gwaine’s as good as they come) but he plays along anyway, for Arthur’s sake. “Won’t be too difficult, I’m sure.”

“Shut up, Merlin, you’re gorgeous.” Arthur kisses another part of him somewhere and distantly Merlin feels like he should be embarrassed or something but he really, truly just doesn’t know what to bloody _do_ with himself anymore.

“Arthur,” Merlin says a bit warningly and curses himself for sounding a little bit broken.

“I know, I know,” Arthur sighs, pulling away, and Merlin feels very, very, very cold.

Arthur grabs his bag and leans against the doorway, just studying Merlin for a moment. “I don’t deserve you,” he says.

“No, you don’t.” Merlin tries his best to smile again. “You have better. You have Gwen.” And he means it, he means it completely because it’s the absolute truth.

Arthur drops his gaze, shaking his head. Merlin doesn’t understand.

He mutters, more to himself, Merlin thinks, “What the hell have I done to you.” But Merlin hears him of course and feels terribly self-conscious, terribly wrong, terribly like he’s the biggest trouble in the universe and he wonders vaguely if that’s what Arthur’s talking about.

“See you, Merlin. Soon,” Arthur says pointedly.

Merlin nods, tries for another smile but it’s lost on them both. “You know where I am.”

And so Arthur leaves Merlin this time, and Merlin supposes with a rather grizzly splintered heart that that must be that.

 

+++

“Oh, Merlin,” says Will in a tone of voice that’s suspiciously similar to that of an actual sympathetic person. Which is kind of frightening, to say the least. Merlin must truly be a state.

Will drops his keys on the countertop and makes a beeline for Merlin, who’s sitting a little rigidly on the couch in his raggiest t-shirt and softest, baggiest tracksuit bottoms. Will plonks on the littered coffee table in front of Merlin with a sigh, cradling his hands in his lap.

“How is Mordred?” Merlin kind of sort of maybe croaks a little bit.

“He’s… yeah, he’s good,” Will says, but he doesn’t say it with his usual private grin. Merlin must really look something especially awful, then.

Merlin nods, staring at his hands. Will lets out another sigh.

“Merlin—“

“I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Merlin meets Will’s eyes, then, and doesn’t expect the frown of a sort of agreement on Will’s face. Doesn’t expect the small, apologetic kind of smile instead of the usual teasing one.

“I think you might be right, Merls.”

Merlin nods, fidgeting with his hands a little. He not-so-suddenly thinks of Morgana. He sees her crystal clear green eyes and her special rare smiles and her long dark hair. He thinks of Gwen and her warmth, her fierce intelligence and the way she always seems to glow. He thinks of Gwaine and his everlasting patience.

He thinks of Arthur. “I want to go back, though.”

Will makes to voice his no-doubt disapproval, but Merlin stops him.

“I’ll… maybe I can, um, you know,” Merlin twirls a wrist. “Get better. And then I can go back.”

“Get better?” Will looks kind of hopeful at that, which makes Merlin’s gut twist with equal joy and nerves and profound guilt. “You mean…”

Merlin nods. “Yeah.” He tries his best to smile encouragingly and not so wobbly.

Will launches at him immediately, engulfing him in a great big hug. Merlin’s a bit stunned. Will never gives hugs.

“This is a good thing, Merlin. A really fucking good thing,” Will says, and squeezes harder.

And Merlin believes him, he does, honestly. This is how he can be the ‘old Merlin’ again. The one Will’s always talking about. This way he can pop some sort of pill and be the one everyone seemed to actually _like_ again, that can handle being around Arthur and all of his friends without wanting to honest-to-God _weep_ stupid amounts.

Merlin carefully doesn’t think about ridiculous things like soulmates and the way Arthur held him and the way he kissed him almost everywhere but his lips and the _love of his goddamn stupid life_ \-- and tells himself it’s a good thing. It is. It has to be.

+++


	2. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Gwen will never forget the day Merlin met their son; the beginning of the end, and the beginning of something better and brighter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave him the way I did... this was always endgame for me. I hope you guys like it. ♥

Gwen’s son’s eyes were wide and brown and full entirely of mischief and wonder. 

Today he wore little wellington boots with little sunflowers printed all over them, caked in mud, and chased Merlin with his Captain America shield wielded as his weapon of choice. He didn't really chase so much as hobbled among the puddles, bouncing on his little legs with his blonde curls doing a jig atop his smiling head. He never stopped giggling.

Merlin pretended that he regularly hopped in tiny strides, slow and wobbly and dorky enough to get caught by tiny grabby hands tied in the loose fabric of his jeans. Gwen may have lost track of the story but presently she is almost certain that Merlin is an escaped magical sidekick, apparently one that hops by way of transport, and it is up to the young prince to bring him home before he gets lost and scared. 

Merlin can be an excellent pretender. He’s not allowed pretend anymore though, not with her, most definitely not with Arthur, and not to himself. 

Merlin was one of the best things that has happened to Gwen’s son. He also happened to be one of the best things that has ever happened to Gwen. Not a lot of people would understand that, Merlin most certainly doesn’t, but it takes a lot to deter Gwen’s loyalty. Being torn up over a love you can’t control and pretending to the point of falling apart because you don’t want to hurt your best friends? Yeah, takes a bit more than that in Gwen’s books, to be honest.

So when Arthur got a call from Will three years ago, when a young dark haired man with a dark mind went missing for a week and was found sat cross-legged in the winter snow, staring past the river bank under a blanket of suffocating darkness, it wasn't okay at all. And Arthur’s face when he took the call broke her heart in many different ways, and so from then on it wasn't really an option that Merlin was coming home. Gwen insists that this was not the reason for her fingers pinching skin when she goes to play with her wedding band. Of course, Merlin refused on many turbulent occasions and with far too many tears to stay with Gwen and Arthur, so he stayed with Gwaine. But he was close, and to stay, and that’s all that counted.

Gwen will never forget the day Merlin met their son; the beginning of the end, and the beginning of something better and brighter.

She was leaning against back against the wall, hands cupping each elbow. Loughlin sat around the corner, bright as day, lost in a rainbow of lego blocks. She stood back while Arthur talked to Merlin so softly but so surely. His eyes never left Merlin’s face, their foreheads nearly touching. Merlin looked like he might be a little bit sick.

Eyes wide and shining and devastating, sleeves tied up in his fingers, he whispered: “What if he doesn't like me?“

That was when anything that could have been construed as stern fell from Arthur’s face, and Gwen could see the very moment he melted in Merlin’s shaking palm. His eyebrows raised ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth pulling up towards the clouds. He was quick to make it a smirk. He wrapped his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and yanked him around the corner. 

Naturally, Loughlin adored him right away. She saw it in the way he quietly invited Merlin to sit with him on his favourite race car rug, how he instantly and very seriously and, in few words that together made hardly any sense at all, let him in on his most intricate construction plans, his every idea for secret roads and schools and castles and shops and which of his assortment of teddys and action figures guarded which parts of the kingdom. Merlin understood every word. He pouted slightly in concentration, listening to Merlin’s every suggestion and bouncing a little when he liked his ideas. Merlin built the baby prince’s tower right by the swimming pool, which earned him very many points. 

Gwen held no guilt in regards to her son, but the perfectly impossible combination of devastation and wonder in Merlin’s eyes was truly something awful. She knew Arthur saw it too. He stayed back, quietly observing. There was something quite matching about Arthur’s expression. He half-covered his mouth with his own palm as he watched with such absolute attention and wonder. She could see how he smiled every now and then, she saw it in his eyes, and it was beautiful, the complete adoration she found there. Her heart sank completely. 

Two or three of Gwen’s least favourite people in her life smiled and winced at the same time in the most annoying way possible, thinking it a good idea to spout things like: _Is it really safe for him to be… you know… around?_ But Gwen only smiled to herself and thought, _they wouldn't buy my son tiaras._ And Loughlin adored his tiaras. 

“Daddy! Help! Get him get him get him!“ Loughlin shrieked between giggles. Arthur, like Gwen and Morgana, was sat on the trailer, (Merlin, the country boy that he is, wanted to bring everyone raspberry-picking in the middle of nowhere with lots of mud, and it was delightful) beaming at the pair of them. He made a show of jumping off and dashing towards Merlin, grabbing him and tumbling them right into the mud.

Arthur and Merlin were a mess of giggles and limbs, Merlin wriggling in the puddles as Arthur held him down. And of course, there was a moment. A moment where Gwen is sure the world stopped for them, and that it had been tipped and emptied save for each other. 

Morgana’s hand found Gwen’s but she didn't meet her eyes, just found herself smiling slightly and mouthing, _it’s fine_. And it was. 

The dancing they'd done around eachother had been dizzying. This was long overdue, Gwen knew.

Merlin’s hand, that had been haphazardly trying to push Arthur off, just slid down Arthur's chest, loose and lost. Arthur’s own hands, that had slipped under Merlin’s back, were the only things stopping him from dipping lower, lower, lower.

Loughlin chose then to waddle into the mix, doing his level best to hold onto his shield and still somehow climb onto Arthur’s back. Of course, he didn't actually succeed, so Arthur managed to stop staring so ridiculously intensely at Merlin to gave Loughlin a boost. “What’s next?” Arthur turned his head and Loughlin surged forward over his shoulder to press his cheek against his father’s. Arthur gave him a quick kiss on his temple and secured him on his back. “Tickles?”

“Mercy, baby prince, mercy!“ 

“No tickle,“ Loughlin declared after careful deliberation. He raised his chin in his most noble pose. “Merlin hurted. Kiss it better.“

Gwen didn’t know what she expected. Maybe she expected Merlin to blush, which he did, but she also expected him to get shy, to dip his head, to make up something to detract from the situation, which he didn't. Instead, he raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, with a smile that was probably trying to be a smirk but turned into a great big beam.

She didn’t know what she expected of Arthur, but she wasn’t surprised when he told Loughlin to hold on tight while he crawled over to where Merlin had sat himself up, cross-legged, waiting. Loughlin went first; Arthur on his hands and knees so he could stretch and kiss Merlin’s cheek; an adorable smack of his lips barely against Merlin’s face. Then Arthur. Merlin wouldn't meet him halfway, so Arthur leaned in and in. He spent an endless moment studying Merlin’s face, eyes running over every inch while Merlin’s smirk slipped from his face, replaced by something like resolution. 

When it seemed he had chosen the perfect spot, he didn’t take his time getting there. The second his lips found the very very corner of Merlin’s, they lingered and lingered and lingered. And it was so soft and loving and perfectly and frustratingly light that Gwen found herself holding her breath, the same time everything seemed to fit exactly like a jigsaw puzzle. 

Later, they'll come to Gwen and tell her all of the things she knows already, and because she is who she is, she'll make Arthur promise never to hurt him again. She knows it's a forever kind of thing, but it still feels necessary. In private, she'll tell him to mind him, especially all the wounded parts where Arthur is neither cause nor remedy.

“All better?“ Loughlin asked.

Merlin touched the corner of his mouth with feather-light fingers,“Yeah,“ he said, and Gwen saw that right then he was so happy.

“Yeah?“ repeated Arthur, with a lot more tied to it. His stare was piercing. Hopeful. Fragile. Daring Merlin to lie again.

Merlin’s smile was small and sure, content and adoring. “Yeah.“

Arthur smiled at him like he was absolute perfection, like he always was, like he always will be no matter what.

“‘Kay, tickles now!“ declared Loughlin, and, naturally, his small kingdom obliged.


End file.
